


the heartbreak prince

by singsungie



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fairy Tale Elements, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, minsungbingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singsungie/pseuds/singsungie
Summary: Once upon a time, a prince made friends with a lumberjack's son.Then, the prince disappeared.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 17
Kudos: 155
Collections: MINSUNG BINGO: Round One





	the heartbreak prince

**Author's Note:**

> it's my first minsung bingo fill! [ @minsungbingo ](https://twitter.com/minsungbingo)  
> i tried to make this as fairytale-y as possible, even though there aren't any fantasy elements; it was a fun exercise.  
> the tropes from my bingo card are- **AU -Royalty** , **AU- Fairy Tale** , and **Different Time Era**!  
> thanks to [hana](https://twitter.com/MINSUNGlSTS) for reading this over, go [ check her out ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarblush/pseuds/sugarblush) <33  
> hope you enjoy~!

It's a sunny spring morning and the prince is gone.

At first, when the maid finds his bed empty, she doesn't worry. Often times, he wakes up early from his fitful sleep, and sneaks out to the stables to brush his beloved horse, Miro.

Today, Miro’s stall is empty, his hay untouched. Outside, a rooster crows, unaware of the fear that floods the maid's stomach at the sight.

The sun travels lazily across the sky, shortening the shadows and making windows glint, and the prince is still nowhere to be found. The only clue is a note slipped under his parents’ door that no one but they know about.

The guards are put on high alert, combing through the castle and the surrounding woods, and then the town. They come back, faces ashen and hands empty.

At dinner, his mother, the queen, cries quietly, and nobody dares to mention her tears dripping on the plate. The king pours himself another glass of mead and keeps his steely gaze on the setting sun.

The news travel fast—castle walls might be good at withstanding invaders, but words are much more slippery—and they reach Minho by the next morning. The young daughter of his neighbour, who probably heard it from herds of vendors she's friends with, breaks them as she brings over lunch for Minho.

"What do you mean, gone?" he asks, dropping the heavy axe and leaning on a nearby tree. It’s hard to keep his expression neutral and his voice steady. "Did he die?"

"No, I mean he's disappeared," Jiwoo explains, gesticulating wildly. Her eyes are big and shiny, with excitement or with fear, Minho finds it hard to discern. "Well, _maybe_ he's dead, but I sure hope not!"

"Huh." Minho blinks at her, then wipes his hands on his shirt before reaching for the lunch laid out in front of him. "Yeah, that… would be a shame."

"Oh! And I heard," Jiwoo leans in closer to whisper. She smells like fresh cheese and blueberries and her cheeks are rose pink. Minho thinks if he were anyone else, he'd find the sight irresistible. "That the evil fairies stole him, because his parents were indebted to them!"

"There's no evil fairies," Minho laughs lightly. "And anyway, we shouldn't concern ourselves with such royal nonsense. Don't you have cows to milk or something?"

Jiwoo stares him down before shaking his head.

"You're no fun, Minho. There's nothing wrong with a little gossip."

She hops away, her hair fluttering in the wind. Minho sighs, chugs the water she's brought and then gets back to the work.

The prince is gone— and Minho’s... Minho’s got nothing better to do, but work.

_-_

_Whoosh—_

The axe swings, blade glinting in the sun as it pierces and splinters the wood. Minho watches it from his seat in the grass. His arms are still too weak to wield the tool, but his fingers already itch with want.

“We’re delivering to the king today,” his father says, leaning back to wipe sweat from his forehead.

“Really?” Minho’s shiny eyes grow wide. His father grins and nods.

“Maybe you’ll even get to meet the prince, if he’s not busy,” he says, but Minho is thinking of other things, such as giant walls and secrets they hold within, and so he barely hears him.

They enter through the side gates, Minho atop their tired donkey and his father leading it. A guard nods to them in greeting and exchanges a few pleasantries, while Minho quietly scans the surroundings—this is the closest he’s ever been to the castle.

“C’mon,” his father finally says and helps Minho down. “Go ahead, run around. Just don’t get into trouble.”

Minho grins, nodding. His father laughs and tries to pat his hair down before pushing him away, in the direction of the stable.

It’s a little scary to suddenly be there all on his own, Minho admits to himself. The castle looms beside him, enormous and eerie, seemingly piercing the sky with its sharp towers. There’s noise all around: forceful shouts coming from further away in the yard, where soldiers are training, and melodious laughter of the maids that are hanging laundry up to dry.

It’s a lot more people in one place than he’s used to.

Minho gently pushes the stable door open and then leans in to peek. Having found nobody inside but horses, he musters up his bravery and walks in.

The horses snort and tilt their heads at the intruder, but soon enough they calm down. Minho approaches them slowly, reaching out to brush his fingertips over their noses. Their searching lips tickle his skin, and Minho giggles, sad that he has no treats to offer.

At the very end of the stable rests a foal; it’s pure white with a single black spot on the forehead, and Minho gasps lightly when he sees it. He comes to a stop in front of the horse, and pets its mane, twirling the silky strands between his fingers.

“What are you doing to Miro?” comes a demand from behind him, and Minho freezes before turning around.

“Nothing,” he says to the boy standing in front of him.

_He must be someone important,_ flits through Minho’s head. The clothes he’s wearing are all silk and velvet, dyed in rich, bright colours, and he stands with more authority than Minho’s ever seen in a child. Thick long locks of wavy dark hair frame the stranger’s round face, and the eyes, though glaring at Minho, sparkle with confidence.

“Who are you?” Minho finds himself asking the boy, tilting his head as he comes closer.

The stranger blinks at him in surprise, and the frown slips off his face just as easily as his hands slip from his hips.

“Who… who am _I?”_ he repeats with bewilderment. Minho nods, spinning a slow circle around the intruder, admiring the complicated embroidery of his coat. “Are you joking?”

Minho comes to a stop in front of the boy and stares him down with as much seriousness as he can muster.

“No,” he answers. “Why would I be?”

“Because I’m _the_ prince, that’s why!” the boy exclaims, stomping his foot and crossing his arms. “Who might you be, huh?”

_Oh,_ Minho thinks, and then shrugs.

“I’m Minho,” he says, reaching out a hand towards the prince. “What’s your name, prince?”

He stares at Minho for another moment before his expression softens and he takes the hand. “I’m… Jisung.”

Minho nods and then smiles. “Pleased to meet you, prince Jisung.”

“Minho!” his father shouts a few hours later. When no answer comes, he wanders into the stable to find his son and the prince, chatting and sitting between the haystacks, grins splitting their faces.

“Minho,” he says again, coming to a stop before the children. “Here you are. And… your Highness. I’m sorry to disrupt you, but…”

“Awh, do we have to go already?” Minho whines. His leg is burning where Jisung’s knee is resting against it, and his heart keeps jumping around his ribcage with excitement. He can’t remember the last time he’s been as happy as he is in this cramped stable, with hay slipping under his shirt and the laughter of a new friend in his ears.

“I’m sorry, Minho,” his father smiles sadly and reaches out to pull him up. “We might come back, although I can’t promise anything.”

“You have to come back!” Jisung suddenly demands, jumping to his feet. He stares up at Minho’s father, face set with the same glare that he used on Minho just a little while back. Now the sight just makes Minho giggle.

“It’s not on me, your Highness. But I’ll be sure to send Minho your way if—when we come back.”

“Hmph,” Jisung folds his arms, but his demeanor drops once he glances at Minho. “I guess that’s good enough.”

“See you!” Minho shouts, waving over his shoulder as his father drags him away.

He talks his father’s ears off on the way back, recounting the conversation word for word, as his father watches him with a wistful expression.

Minho didn’t understand the meaning of that look until much later.

_-_

The prince is gone, and the day goes on the way it always does.

Minho chops the wood, packs it in the cart, takes it to the town. He makes small talk with the vendors and random townspeople he’s grown friendly with, and then returns home. He eats his meals and washes up and feeds the chicken, Dori, he’d recently adopted. Then he goes to sleep.

He doesn’t wonder where Jisung is, or how he’s doing— there’s no use in that.

And yet, despite the spring warmth, the air inside Minho’s lungs stays cold.

_-_

“Minho!” Jisung shouts, greeting him by practically jumping on his back.

“Jisung!” Minho complains, glad his father has left for a moment. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I missed you,” Jisung pouts, tightening his hold even as Minho struggles to pull away.

“You’ll get us both in trouble,” Minho whines, though they both know nobody in the courtyard is paying them attention.

Jisung never was a traditional prince: too friendly with the helpers, too easily swayed from one emotion to the other. And even as he grew in both stature and confidence, Minho has never found himself intimidated. Something about the way Jisung’s eyes sparkled when he looked at Minho, the way a smile always found its place on his face.

“I can’t get in trouble; I’m the prince,” Jisung grins, puffing out his chest. Minho rolls his eyes.

“You’re spoiled is what you are.”

“Okay, who cares about me! Tell me what you’ve been up to!” Jisung pulls himself up to sit on the cart while Minho loads the firewood off it. Minho shakes his head lightly, and yet he can’t help but comply.

Once or twice, they manage to sneak away and take a ride—Jisung on Miro, and Minho on his father’s trustworthy donkey. They laugh and race through the fields, and stop for lunch in the middle of the forest, napping right there under the trees where sun barely reaches them. They come back covered in leaves and pine needles, with hair mussed and hands dirty.

In winter, Minho pushes Jisung into piles of snow, and Jisung retaliates, surprising him by sticking his ice cold fingers under Minho’s collar. There’s something so feather light in their existence together, that sometimes Minho forgets Jisung’s a prince.

Only the sad look in his father’s eyes reminds him that this won’t last forever; Minho does his best to not think further than their next outing to the castle.

_-_

Jisung’s name is on his lips when Minho wakes up after a dreamless sleep. The sun is shining in his face, cruel in its brightness. He lays there for a little longer, staring at the ceiling and, just for a little while, letting himself worry.

Then he gets up and does not think about it anymore.

_-_

Once when Minho visits, a year after his father dies and he takes over his business, and almost half a year before the prince disappears, Jisung is nowhere to be found.

Minho takes his time unpacking the wood, listening intently for that familiar tinkling of his voice, for the quick footsteps on the pavement, but no one comes.

By the time he’s almost finished, the work seems impossible; every muscle is locked up with anxiety, his breath coming short and lacking. He keeps glancing over the shoulder, but there’s no sight of the warm grin, just the usual racket of the courtyard.

Eventually, the cart is empty and the gold coins chime in his pocket, so Minho steps away. He considers his donkey for a moment, then throws another look over his shoulder and heads for the stable.

Jisung is curled on the ground, elbows on his knees, weaving long strands of hay together, Miro calmly grazing besides him. Minho sighs in relief.

“Hey,” he greets softly, lowering himself to sit beside the prince. “You didn’t show up. Kinda got me worried.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“They want me to marry,” Jisung finally speaks and the words freeze Minho’s blood.

“Oh,” he says, because it’s all he can do.

“It’s so stupid,” Jisung shakes his head and lets out a frustrated sigh, throwing the hay towards Miro. It bounces off his milk-white side. Miro answers by swinging his tail.

“Do you…” Minho clears his throat. “Do _you_ want to?”

Jisung throws him a scorching gaze.

“Of course, I don’t,” he spits out. “I don’t even know her. I know nothing except for her name and the stupid kingdom she’s from and I kinda wish I could just burn this whole damn castle down.”

Slowly, carefully, Minho reaches over to put a hand on Jisung’s knee.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. It feels like he has to fight for every breath. His stomach, his lungs, his legs slowly fill with the leaden weight of dread and he wishes the ground could swallow him. “Is there anything you can do?”

“Yeah, I wish,” Jisung laughs bitterly. His fingers lay over Minho’s, the cold from his skin seeping into Minho’s. “I may be a prince, but my father is still the king. I can do nothing but comply.”

The quiet falls over them again. Miro snorts and shakes his head. Minho stares at Jisung; at the way dark brown strands fall on his forehead, the way his eyelashes flutter, the way his nose slopes and his lips purse, and he wishes, and longs, more than he ever has.

“You could do something,” he says, and every word feels like breaking meter thick ice.

“What?” Jisung asks, tilting his head towards Minho. He can see the suggestion in his eyes, the way he licks his lips. They glimmer in the low light and Minho swallows his own desire, feeling like he’s destroying something sacred.

“You could run away,” he finally says, after what feels like eternity.

“What?” Jisung repeats himself, though this time the word is filled with disbelief. He tilts away and Minho turns his hand, grabbing Jisung’s just as it tries to slide away.

“I know, I know, it’s a stupid idea. But…” _Isn’t it better than this? The suffering, the fear, the weight piling up on your shoulders until you break?_ Minho wants to say. _I don’t want you to break. I want you to be happy._ And yet his lips refuse to move, because convincing Jisung of this would be a sure way to lose him for good.

“Yeah. It _is_ stupid.”

Jisung pulls his hand from Minho’s grip and stands up, towering over him.

For the first time in what could be forever, Minho feels scared of his imposing form.

“I am a prince, Minho, you must understand that. Doing things I don’t like, acting against my personal gain, well, that’s kinda the whole point, isn’t it?” Jisung asks and Minho bites the inside of his cheek, looking down. “I can’t just—just run away at the first sight of a difficult choice. And just because we’ve gotten close… No, because I _let_ you get close, that doesn’t allow you to suggest such idiotic things, to try and force an idea of…”

Jisung trails off and Minho lifts his gaze to find his eyes filled to the brim with tears.

“Jisung,” he says gently, reaching out to take his hand, but Jisung just pulls further away.

“An idea of free will,” he chokes out, and squeezes his eyes shut. The tears spill over the apples of his cheeks and connect under his chin. “An idea that I could _choose_ to do something like that. It’s too much, Minho. I can’t. I’m stuck and I will always be, and that’s just how this life is. That’s not something we can change.”

Minho stands up and reaches out once again, pulling Jisung close to his chest, even as he resists. Pulls him so close that his sobs resonate in Minho’s own lungs.

For a while, Jisung goes limp in his arms and then, he holds onto Minho for one never-ending, dear moment. Then he steps back again.

“Maybe…” he starts and stops, taking a moment to wipe away the tears with his sleeve. “I think it’s for the best,” Jisung says, once again composed, and Minho’s heart breaks into a thousand pieces, each shard sharper than the former. “If we stopped this. It’s not leading either of us anywhere good.

I think we shouldn’t… be friends anymore.”

Minho curls his hands into fists at his side and clenches his jaw and forces himself to look Jisung in the eyes, knowing full well it might be the last time he ever gets to.

They’re terrifyingly, painfully, undeniably filled with devastation. It doesn’t make Minho feel better.

“Goodbye, Minho,” Jisung whispers and walks away.

Minho stands there, waiting for the stable door to fall shut; only then he lets himself drop to his knees and slam his fists into the floor, tears staining the wood beneath him.

_-_

No matter how much he tries to convince himself, Jisung just won’t leave Minho’s mind. He’s not sure if he should feel resentful or sad or disappointed. He tries to feel proud. Tries to be happy.

The memory of heartbreak is fresher than ever, like someone has plunged a knife into an old stab wound.

In the end, Minho spends most of the day staring blankly to the horizon, glad that Jiwoo decided to not visit today and at the same time angry that he’s stuck alone with his own thoughts.

The sun is setting when he finally makes his way back home with an almost empty cart.

The moment he hops down from his donkey, Minho can feel that something’s off. He grips the weaved handle of his knife and tiptoes towards the door, trying to keep his breathing soundless and steady.

The door is open, just the smallest sliver; Minho’s fingers shake in the yellow-red half-light as he reaches for the handle.

One push and it swings open.

“Who are you?” he demands, pointing the knife towards the dim figure in the middle of the room. “What do you want?”

“Whoa, calm down, Minho” comes a voice from inside. “It’s me.”

The person steps forwards and the last dying breaths of the sun colour his skin in broad orange strokes. His hair is dishevelled, and his eyes sparkle with uncontained joy.

“Jisung?”

The knife clatters on the stone floor.

Jisung smiles gently at Minho’s shock.

“It’s me,” he repeats, taking another step closer. “The runaway prince. The disgrace of his family. The… Hopefully, still the best friend of one Lee Minho.”

There’s a pause—Jisung is waiting for his answer, but all Minho can do it just hold himself steady, so he doesn’t just collapse and start sobbing.

Jisung bites his lip, taking it as hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a quiet and tender voice, slowly inching closer. “I know I hurt you, but there was just so much pressure from everywhere. And I… I didn’t expect your offer. I expected you agreeing with them. Or worse. I mean, I don’t know what the ‘worse’ is, but, what I’m trying to say is—”

“God,” Minho groans, and grabs Jisung’s face and shuts him up in the way he always wanted to—with his own lips.

Jisung tastes sweet like honey, and clear like fresh snow, and his skin under Minho’s hands is softer than any silk, hotter than midday sun; and though he can’t quite breathe, Minho’s lungs have never felt lighter.

“You’re an idiot,” he gasps out once they pull apart. Jisung’s arms tighten around his waist.

“But you still love me, right?” he asks, eyes sparkling with that same confidence that made Minho fall all those years ago.

“I have for the longest time, and I don’t plan to stop,” Minho promises, and kisses him again.

The prince is gone, but Jisung has never left.

**Author's Note:**

> i'll never get tired of prince jisung agenda lol  
> please tell me your thoughts uwu  
> you could also come talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie) or [cc!](https://curiouscat.me/squishiesungie)
> 
> also mb consider retweeting [ the tweet about my fic](https://twitter.com/squishiesungie/status/1240623740565815304)?


End file.
